O Caesar, Where Art Thou?
by akfedeau
Summary: In the middle of long, hot Mojave summer, Arcade's love for proverbs grabs the eye of a stranger. A taciturn orphan feared for his strength, Tony's tracing a medallion found on him as a baby - and he needs a Latin translator to help him follow it back to The Fort.
1. White Heat

_Honor __thy __father __and __thy __mother__: __that __thy __days __may __be__long __upon __the __land __which __the __Lord __thy __God __giveth __thee__._

_Exodus__ 20:12_

* * *

The first week of August brought the sun like an unholy terror.

It shone on the crags of Black Mountain and the shores of Callville Bay, on the airplanes at McCarran and the brook at Forlorn Hope. It shone on the fields at HELIOS One, and the Strip burned like high noon at midnight. It shone on the bighorners in the canyons and the prickly pear in the flats - on the hot tin roofs of Nellis and the shadows on the crosses at Nipton.

And it shone on the tent of one Arcade Gannon, curling his broc flowers and withering his maize. His book and the patients called it "white heat" - and he hoped it would go as fast as it came.

* * *

The fan rattled above Francine Garret as she stared him down in disbelief.

"_Water__?_"

"You heard me." Arcade settled onto a stool and heaved a dehydrated breath. "Julie's laying them two to a bed. We're going to start losing patients if they don't get clean water."

"You hear that, James?" Francine twisted the cap off a bottle. "Glasses here came in for _water__._"

A barbershop quartet of chuckles.

"You cut Glasses a deal!" James spoke up over the laughter. "That still in the back needs fixing."

"You have fun asking a _Follower_ to help you make stronger..."

Heat and sunlight poured in when the Wrangler door swung open. Francine turned her head to the source and shielded her eyes.

"... _Shit_."

A man too old for the Mojave stumbled in, nose red with liquor and arms scabbed from chems. He dragged the side of his foot over the floor as he cut a winding path to the bar.

"Frannie!" He croaked. "Frannie, sweetheart." His bony fingers folded over the ledge beside Arcade's stool. "You thought about our deal, right."

"Fourteen caps." Francine's answer landed like a boot stomp. "_Twenty_ for calling me 'sweetheart.'"

"W-well now, let's..." the man leaned forward and hit Arcade in the face with his breath - "... let's agree on twelve."

Without another word Francine stepped away from the register. She planted a hand on her hip, stuck two fingers in her mouth, and blew a whistle to drive dogs mad.

"To-_ny__!_"

The bar went silent. The card players hushed. The stairs creaked as they brought down half a brahmin's worth of muscle. He crossed the room with the casual sway of a boxer, cracking his knuckles and turning heads as he went.

The drunk shuffled backward in fright. Tony scooped him up by his collar and pitched him headfirst out the door.

"Asshole." Francine took her place as the talking resumed. "Comes in every day, tries to haggle the price of scotch. Thought with the boy around he'd leave us alone."

"_Improbe __Neptunum __accusat__, __qui __iterum __naufragiam __facit__._" Arcade seized the opportunity to quip. "You know how it is."

The heavy footsteps stopped.

"Uh." Francine paused. "No, actually, I don't."

The dead weight of a hand hit the wood of the bar.

"What'd you say?"

Arcade pushed up his glasses. "I said, '_improbe __Neptunum__ -'_"

"I mean that's Legion language, ain't it?" The young man turned and started toward him.

"Well, no, I mean." Arcade's palms went clammy. "They didn't _invent_ it... they just _appropriated_ it."

Tony gave him a strange, curious look.

"Could I _see_ you a minute?"

* * *

"I hope you're not insinuating I'm _with_ those crackpots!" Arcade babbled, helpless on his path to the storeroom. "Unless you _are_ on their side, in which case, I..." he bowed his head out of habit as he passed under the doorway - "... well, they're not so bad, just _grievously_ misinformed, and - "

The door slammed behind him. "Will you _dry __up__?_"

Arcade pulled his lips between his teeth. He could dry up. He could dry up for those knuckles.

"Now, listen," Tony began, squeaking over the floorboards. "I'm not gonna hurt you. But I need somethin' you got."

Arcade sidestepped a stained orange chair. "Then why are you being _intimidating__?_"

Tony ignored the comment as he reached for his trousers. "You have a look at this and tell me -"

Arcade balked. "If you're gonna turn your head and cough -"

"- what this is for."

Tony fished in his pocket and produced a weathered cloak clasp. He held it out in his palm and beckoned for the doctor to take it. Seeing no other option, Arcade complied, lifting it with ginger fingers.

"They found that on me," Tony explained, in Arcade's peripheral hearing. "When I was a baby."

Arcade adjusted his glasses in accordance and peered closer. Bull motif... burnished brass.

"Well." It occurred to him to lower his voice. "It's Legion, all right. I can practically smell The Fort on it."

Tony crossed his arms and leaned on the table beside the sink. "Turn it over."

The doctor rolled it into his other hand. _Po__... __potius __mori__..._ where had he _seen_ that? Or _heard_, or...

The ten-year memory of a holotape lit the bulb in his head.

"'Death before dishonor.'" His fist closed around it. "That's what it says." He nodded to the token with a raised eyebrow. "Somewhere across the river is a man who wants this back."

Tony answered after he shifted his weight off the table.

"All right, Doc." He advanced. "I wanna make you a deal. Word is things are hot with the Kings and the NCR - and however that goes down, there's no way it won't get ugly."

Arcade trained suspicious sights on him.

"You and I clear out while we can - and you help me get to Caesar..." the need in Tony's voice became palpable - "... and I'll keep you safe while you do it."

"No offense," Arcade prefaced - "... but why should I go _anywhere_ with you?"

"For nine years now I been searchin'." Tony extended his hand to the unknown. "And you're the only lead I got."


	2. The Middle of Nowhere

At ten the next morning the doctor picked his first bone.

"You know, the ganglands of the Boneyard are more pulchritudinous than this hellhole."

"Yeah?"

"_God_, yes."

"Well that's swell. That's." Tony ducked between arch and rubble of the ruined building. "That's real swell."

Arcade followed him through. "So you agree with me."

Tony hoisted his knapsack further up on his shoulder. "Yessir."

"... You don't know what that means, do you?"

A clatter of tumbling bricks.

"No, sir."


	3. The Salt of the Earth

In the blister of the burgeoning noon they came upon a fence.

SHARECROPPER FARMS, the sign read. NO TRESPASSING. Its sentry leaned on her metal post, pulling her hair up to fan her neck.

"Ma'am?" Tony hailed as they approached. "Ma'am? Could we ask you a question?"

"That's 'Private.'" She puffed out her chest to correct him. "But what?"

"Y'see, we're awful lost." Tony glanced to the doctor, then back. "And we need the way to Cottonwood Cove."

The private blinked.

"Huh?"

"You know," Tony explained. "Legion territory."

"Do you jokers know how the military works?"

"Well, obviously..." Tony shrugged down at his lack of uniform - "... no."

The private aimed her finger at the barracks. "Go see the lieutenant. Romanowski." She retracted the gesture to wipe her brow. "If _someone_ here knows, it's him."

Even among the ranks the blinding heat had eclipsed decorum. They found her superior stripped to shirtsleeves, in his private's borrowed helmet. Sunburn peeled on his hands and left a rash across his nose.

He acknowledged Arcade with a nod. "Doctor." And Tony. "Sir. Can I help you with anything?"

"Yeah. You can." Arcade hooked his hands behind his back. "Since your private has been so _gloriously_ unhelpful- "

Tony parroted over the doctor before Arcade could earn them an enemy.

"We _needa_ get to Cottonwood _Cove_."

A skeptical air blew over the lieutenant's face. The shadows lifted off his cheeks as his hat tipped back with his head.

"What for?"

"To take the ferry. What else?" Arcade aired out his throat under his collar. "The heavy thinks he's misplaced his roots."

Romanowski chewed his cracked lip.

"Why don't you come inside?" He beckoned with two fingers and pushed the barracks door ajar. "Let me show you a little protocol."

Tony hunched on his way through the doorway. "What's wrong with just tellin' us?"

"Well, I _can__'__t_ just tell you." Romanowski took off his helmet. "We don't know who you are. You could be a Legion spy, or some white knight trying to get killed."

Arcade's eyes flashed to Tony, then the lieutenant. "No white knights here."

"However." Romanowski ignored him as he slid into his rolling chair. "You _can_ apply for clearance."

The men's faces sunk into frowns.

"If you're that keen to find out, you fill out forms and give them to me." Romanowski draped his arm over the back of the chair. "I'll sign them and fingerprint you, and you'll both take the citizenship test." His free hand spread-eagled over his knee. "Should reach the boys at McCarran in... give-or-take, three days."

The shock nearly cracked Arcade's lenses. "Three days?!"

"That's for it to get there." Romanowski opened the drawer and set a ledger down on the desk. "Then it has to be processed and sent to the appropriate superiors. And when they see it in their inbox, they'll run the background check and send it back." Pages flew past his face until he stopped at the proper one. "You give it about... " he dragged his finger down a handwritten column - "... two weeks... and you'll be ready to go."

The silence hung.

"Say, uh, officer." Tony scratched the back of his head. "I don't mean to disrespect you, but me and Doc could walk it over and be back with it by lunch."

"Two weeks, gentlemen." Romanowski shut the ledger and smiled. "Two weeks."

Tony crossed his arms. Arcade cleared his throat. The two stepped aside and stood together like plotting thieves.

"Come on, Doc," Tony insisted. "We could find it on our own by then."

"And end up head over heels in a Viper camp? Fantastic." Arcade nodded on _fantastic_ and rolled his eyes. "We could learn the local religion, try some of the local _chems_..."

"Well maybe I don't wanna mess around with no clearance!"

"Unless you'd rather do some work for us..." The lieutenant's voice behind them betrayed his eavesdropping - "... and I might one day just... _slip __up_."

Arcade whirled around and started in. "If that's not the most- "

"I can work." Tony held his chin high. "Whaddyou need?"

Romanowski's face lit up like Christmas.

"Good!" He closed the ledger. "There's a chain gang of Correctional escapees, just rounded up and brought in this morning." His fingers steepled in his lap. "You boys can be an example of a... _higher_ moral fiber."

* * *

Tony rolled onto his back and counted the spots on the ceiling tiles.

He'd long lost track of time, but he knew it'd felt like hours. This misery demanded company from the first place he thought to look.

"Doc?" He mumbled. "You awake?"

A groggy "Yes."

"Oh."

"I will be as long as you keep rolling over."

"Take it outside, lovebirds," a voice grunted. "Some of us sleep at night."

"Pay Pinky no mind," another countered. "He's just bitter. Can't pick his nose right, not after that firework accident."

"Forster." Boxsprings creaked. "I will strangle your bony ass with my nine bare fingers."

The room went quiet but for the shifting beds. Tony buried his face in his pillow and longed for sleep.

* * *

Monday from sunrise to supper they tilled the fields. The sun chapped Arcade's face and seared his blond head. The lieutenant did not slip.

Tuesday and Wednesday the routine persisted. The chain gang tended the maize, muttering and swearing as the leaves dropped around their feet. Forster spat in the corncrib. Pinky groused about his finger. The lieutenant pulled them aside and lambasted them, but did not slip.

For seven days this continued, and still the lieutenant did not slip.

* * *

On the eighth night four shaking hands jilted the men out of bed.

"Wake them boys up," Pinky ordered, as the gangers dragged them to the center of the barracks. They arrived at Pinky's powwow in uncombed hair and undershirts, the man himself holding court on a pilfered rolling chair.

Arcade wailed against his captor. "Let us go!"

"Shut _up__,_ four-eyes!" Pinky snapped in a ragged hush. "You wanna get us caught?"

Tony gave his companion a look of consternation. Arcade surrendered and sulked.

"Now. We are gathered here today..." Pinky began, irony palpable - "in the sight of God, and in the face of friends - to decide how to get the _hell_ outta here."

A wave of stubbled nods and _mhm_s spread over his accomplices. Tony kept watching, quiet about his uneasiness.

"Way I see it, we got two options." Pinky brandished two fingers on his good hand. "One, we wait it out. Get to eatin' each other's brains. Or two..." his eyes shone with wicked design - "we get real... _friendly_ with that storeroom... and rig up some charges for the fence."

"What about the lieutenant?" The one with the eyepatch volunteered.

Pinky's chair squeaked as he reclined. "I tell you what, the lieutenant's a son of a bitch. Tellin' us to go here, and do that, while he sits in the shade and spanks it to Colonel Moore."

"Sure he is." Forster broke out his cigarettes. "But what can we _do_ about him? NCR's got us here until January." The pack circulated from hands to grubby hands.

Pinky stuck one in his mouth and grinned out the other side. "We _stick_ it to 'im, that's what."

"Listen, I don't mean to be rude..." Arcade started in again - "... but how does _any_ of this pertain to us?"

"Well what you think, four-eyes?" Pinky struck a match on his cheek. "We want you in on it."

Arcade's train of thought shorted out.

"Me?"

"No, the _boy_."

"Why _don__'__t_ we take the boy?" Forster jumped at the chance to get a word in. "He's built like a brick shithouse."

"_Gentlemen_." Arcade coughed up a nervous laugh above their chatter. "That's a kind proposition, but- "

A ganger gave him the evil eye -

"- but I'm a _doctor_, not a criminal."

"Well that's just why we want you," Pinky reasoned. "You're an egghead." A cloud swirled out his nose. "You _sit_ like an egghead, you _talk_ like an egghead. No-one gives a shit if you start actin' funny. You're already funny."

"You think that maybe we don't want a part in none of this?" A rare conviction rose in Tony's voice. "We're headed somewhere that's got _nothin__'_ to do with here."

"Because." Pinky blew a smoke ring. "So are we."

* * *

On the ninth day Arcade dawdled by the north pump.

He whistled. He checked his wristwatch. He gnawed at his ration carrot. Gangers stood scattered throughout the fields, squinting in the midday glare.

The barracks door opened, by accident or on purpose. Arcade studied his carrot and kept the door in his peripherals. Romanowski strutted out and perused the fields, back straight and hands behind it.

Before long Arcade's intuition tingled at a pair of eyes on him. He shot a dour stare back at the barracks porch... and took another obstinate bite.

At last the lieutenant broke the stalemate. The ganger at the greenhouse nodded to a ganger in the maize, who nodded to the ganger in the tobacco. A pair set off for the south fence with furtive faces and pliers, and Arcade cursed his pitiful existence.

* * *

On the tenth night the barracks awoke to a thunderous blast.

Dust shook from the ceiling. The lamp on Romanowski's desk fell and shattered. Arcade bolted upright and groped for his glasses.

"Shit!"

Tony's eyes darted between the empty bunks. "What's that?"

"They blew the charges!"

"Come on, then!" Tony vaulted himself out of his bunk and snatched up his knapsack.

A second burst of noise sent boards and pillow feathers flying. Tony shoved Arcade out of the way as a beam capsized in their path. The smoke cleared and the ash settled to reveal a smoldering hole in the wall.

_Get __out__!_ Their minds blared. _Any __way __but __that __way__!_

They flung themselves out the door and found themselves in the devil's playground. A geyser shot from the pump. Chain links littered the ground. The gangers ran through the fields like children, hooting and hollering and swearing into the wind.

A distant bark threw the frenzy into a tailspin.

"_Run__!_" Someone cried. "They got backup!"

Tony let instinct take over. He yanked Arcade's arm and bolted. Through the maize and the tobacco and the charred remains of the fence, onto cement and past the offices and McCarran and into the wild - where the yelping and the rifles faded into the rocks and the patchy grass.

Their feet shored up dirt clods as they scrambled to a halt. Tony dropped to his knees, then fell back-first against the ground.

"Tony... _Christ_." Arcade heaved and held his kneecaps. "Were you raised by wolves?"

A ragged exhale. "... Yeah."


	4. Out of the Dust

"Ho-ly hell," The quarry worker marveled. "You boys are _all_ turned around." He singled out a spot on his map. "Cottonwood Cove is to the _east_..." he dragged his finger left - "... and you're all the way out _here__._"

The dawning of the obvious took the wind out of Arcade's sails.

"_Oh__._"

Tony squinted and shielded his face. "You got a place to nap? We been walkin' since morning."

"All we got's the molerat bed." The worker stood his ground. "And you'll be payin'..." his eyebrows migrated north - "... _restitution__._"

A rodent snort came from under the table. No room, Arcade deduced, at this inn.

* * *

They walked the rails and the hills through the worst of the afternoon heat. The bark scorpions chased their ankles and the doctor's sunburn itched.

Three times he brought it up. Three jokes he sat through about lily-white heads and hats.

At dusk they rounded a hill and came to a gated field. Tony scavenged a stone from the ground and tossed it against the links. When he deemed it safe they ventured inside, and came upon a valley of knolls.

Tony took a tenuous step into their midst.

"What _is_ this place?"

Arcade made his way over the hillocks to the decorated face of a bunker. "Beats me."

"Makes two of us."

"It's got to be pre-War." The doctor ran his hand over the faded graffiti. "It's too solid."

"Pre-War or not..." Tony heaved the handle spokes - "... it's better than sleepin' outside."

Arcade started. "You're going _in_ there?!"

"Doc!" Tony insisted. "I -"

The earth rumbled beneath them. A sudden wind whistled and bit. For once Arcade looked to Tony for knowledge, blinking big from behind his glasses.

Up from behind the rocks the sky blotted out.

"Dust!" Tony shouted, letting go of the handle. "It's dust!"

The spokes spun and the door lifted. Tony herded his companion in and pulled the barrier shut behind them, just as it flailed the door and scattered at their feet.

* * *

"You don't think somebody's hidin' a... _vault_ in here, do you?"

"No." Arcade's boots clanked on the stairs. "No. What_ever_ would give you that impression?" His sarcasm ran tar-thick. "The concrete walls? The blast proof door?"

Tony refused to gratify him with a response.

"Of _course_ some lunatic is down here!" The doctor ranted all the way through the antechamber. "And might I remind you..." He piled on - "that it was _all_ your idea to do this, and if _we_ get in hot water this was _not_ a 'we' decision, and- "

Tony froze in place. The mechanisms on the door before them turned without provocation. When Arcade caught sight of the power armor his mind took off like a dervish, and between the scramble and the scuffle and the kicking of shoes he made out _listen __very __closely __and __do __as __I __say_ before the ceiling spun and the world went black.

* * *

"_Took __two __of __us_," Arcade overheard, muffled.

"_No __bullshit__._"

"_No __bullshit__,_" the first voice repeated. "_Took __two __of __us __in __power __armor __to __get __that __boy __to __stop __thrashing__._"

"_You __sure __he__'__s __not __half__-__brahmin__?_"

"_Who __knows __with __out __there__._"

The doctor groaned and searched around himself with his hand. Grey fog... a spot of yellow... that shocked white. _Ow_, from the back of his skull.

"Glasses..." he heard himself say, swiping at the air - "... need my glasses."

"_Hey__, __eyes __forward__._" That same initial voice. "_They__'__re __comin__' __around__._"

Arcade's hand hit cold frames beside him. He slipped them onto his nose and blinked to stop the room from spinning. An armored ceiling?

His eyes wandered left and caught Tony on the bed beside him. Sprawled out over the mattress, fingers grazing the floor. Whoever brought them here had stripped him to his shorts, and Arcade...

… Well, Arcade couldn't help but _look__._

A stroke of tragic timing roused the young man from his sleep. He groaned... he stretched. Arcade quickly minded his business and realized they'd given him the same treatment.

_Oh__._

"_All __right__. __They__'__re __up__._" Feet clanked as the voices approached. "_Let__'__s __get __a __move __on__._"

Arcade's head snapped up out of instinct.

"Get your clothes on and follow us!" The man's tone meant business. "We're here to escort you to the elder."

"_Clothes__?_" Arcade's eyes raced between his knees and his companion. "This is..." He cleared his throat - "... awfully intimate..."

The second guard aimed his rifle.

"Get. Your clothes. _On__._"

* * *

"Of all the bunkers, in all the deserts, in all the world, you land us in the one that reminds me of home."

"Quiet!" His guard ordered.

Tony shook his head in special understanding. "He doesn't..."

"You too!"

Tony clamped his mouth shut.

"I mean, really." Arcade's nerves continued spilling his thoughts. "The walls... the machinery, even the mood lights." He chuckled as they headed down the hall. "I'm five years old again."

The guards sighed. They rounded one more corner and took a narrow flight of stairs, Tony stooping to fit better on the way down.

As they entered the room at the end the door rose and locked behind them. Tony's blood ran cold.

"Elder!" Their other escort shouted across the room. "With permission..." his head gestured to the doctor - "... can I _shoot_ this idiot?"

"No." The word resonated through the chamber. "I want to hear what he has to say."

Every step into the place felt like a forward march into a trap. The gears on the wall... the sealing of the door. The elder himself sat on a raised round landing, hair glowing and face shaded under a sterile blue light.

"Go on." The calm in his voice ran the lengths of their spines. "I'm waiting."

Tony sucked in a breath and took the first step up.

"Now." The elder folded his hands. "I expect an explanation of how you found us." His eyes turned up to them as they reached his desk. "And I _expect_ it to be thorough."

"Found _you__?_" Tony balked. "You found _us__!_"

"We were _hiding_ from a _dust __storm_..." Arcade intervened. "... when _you_ sprang your _guards_ on us."

"Well." The elder's poker face refused to break as he studied his fingernails. "I won't pretend to understand what you're doing all the way out here." His gaze drifted back up. "But I think you'll agree we've reached an awkward impasse."

Tony withdrew. He felt out of place. Time to let the brains do the talking.

"Under different circumstances I'd just..." The elder swatted the air - "kill you. But. Desperate times..." he rose - "... call for desperate measures."

Arcade summoned his best funerary cheer. "Thanks."

"You see, there's an NCR Ranger up top." The elder paced over his half of the landing. "Squatting in one of my bunkers, and _sniffing_ too close to my _business_." He pinched his eyes and clenched his teeth - then relaxed. "I can't imagine what he's looking for. But if you can root him out, and deal with _him_ before he finds _us_..." he held a hand to his breast for emphasis - "... you can spare him the consequences of _us_ finding _him__._"

"Yeah, well, I say no deal!" Tony stepped forward and jabbed his finger at the elder's desk. "I don't whack nobody for hire."

"I didn't say..." the elder's fingers clasped over his palms - "... you had to kill him."

"And what if I still say no?"

The elder returned to his seat, leaned back, and smiled.

* * *

"Sometimes..." Arcade thought aloud, hoisting himself on top of the mound - "... I think of _all_ the things I could be doing."

"Yeah." Tony ignored the dead scorpion in his path. "Me too."

"I could be reading." The doctor dusted off his hands and stuck them in his pockets. "Napping. Running errands for Julie." He sauntered behind his companion with the jaunt to match his sarcasm. "Having dangerous liaisons with banana yucca!" His pitch raised as the list went on. "But no. I'm reliving my childhood in..." he paused for word choice - "... _ironic_ diametric - with a heavyweight half-mute and a bomb around my neck."

Tony reached for the handle of the next bunker. "'Least he gave you your gun back."

"What's that supposed to mean?!"

"I dunno." Tony shrugged. "'Least there's that."

* * *

"And, you know, to think," the doctor added, as they traipsed into their third. "Of all the places to find the Brotherhood, they're scrounging around out here."

"Wait." Tony squeezed through the claustrophobic entrance. "You _know_ those guys?"

"Sure." Arcade waited for the door to close before he continued. "Well, not personally. But their reputation precedes them."

Tony followed, keeping an ear on him.

"They were huge in the area until a few years ago." Arcade watched his step. "Archivists. Pre-War fiends. For how much they love technology, it's... odd to find them holed up in a backwater like this." A shrug. "'Course, after what the NCR did to 'em at HELIOS One, I don't blame them."

"You know an awful lot about these nuts, don't you?"

"Me?" A rhetorical question. "No-o-o. Just what I -"

They emerged from the stairwell and met a revolver in their faces.

* * *

The elder drummed his fingers on the cold iron of his desk. The men's voices kept him company, scratchy and droning from the receiver on the wall.

And he sat.

And he listened.

And he waited.

After an hour and three quarters the voices began to echo. The door clattered open and there they stood, sweat-stained and peppered with dirt.

"Well," the elder noted, restoring his calm veneer. "I don't see any blood."

Tony brushed off his hands. "I said I wouldn't whack nobody."

"No." The elder folded his own in his lap. "You went to all that trouble and convinced him we're a nest of Powder Gangers." He relished his words. "Creative. I like it."

Arcade started. "How the hell did you know that?!"

"Didn't realize there was a wire in your- "

"Sir!" A third suit of power armor came rushing in between the guards. "We found this in the young man's belongings!"

"What?!" The elder shot up from his chair. "What is it? Why the frenzy?"

"It's Legion!" The suit held out the medallion. "Some kind of rank insignia."

The elder's eyes lowered to Tony as his face hardened.

"All right." A step back. "Who are you?" Another. "Who do you work for?"

"Wait!" Tony insisted. "Hear me out!"

"Why _should_ I?"

The guards lifted their rifles. Tony's hands shot up. Arcade's blood pounded. Return the favor? Or not?

Against his better judgment...

"Gentlemen... gentlemen." He raised his hands. "Let's... not... be so hasty."

Their attention diverted. Hands came off triggers and holsters.

"He's not what you want." Arcade reached behind himself, pulled his gun out of his waistband, and set it down under the light. "This is."

The elder's demeanor turned on a dime. He sank back into his chair and picked the pistol up like a totem.

"What's a country doctor doing with an Enclave gun?"

"A gift." Arcade kept his timbre and his words vague. "And it's my gift to you - if you let this young man go."

The elder narrowed his eyes and appraised his potential winnings.

"As it stands, that cloak pin belongs to someone he's hunting." Another careful word choice. "But if you take me up on my offer, the truth is, well." He smirked. "Incidental."

* * *

"What'd you go and do that for?" Tony asked, as they made their way out the gate. "You can't last out here with that knife."

"It'd been breaking down for months." Arcade shrugged it off. "Besides. I was sick of him holding court."


	5. Also the Middle of Nowhere

They stopped on a ledge overlooking the test site for lunch.

The first quarter-hour they spent in silence. The wind blew. The heat stunk. The Instamash tasted like sawdust.

Tony spoke up halfway through the tin of Cram.

"Hey. Doc."

Arcade pulled the fork out of his mouth. "Yes?"

"Is Arcade your real name?"

"Maybe." Arcade deflected. "Why?"

"Well." Tony pulled off three slices with his knife. "We saved each others' skins once each now." He tucked in and resumed talking with his mouth full. "Thought I'd know who I've been savin'."

Arcade crossed his ankles and brought his knees up. "Sure. That's me."

"Funny name."

"What about you?" He untucked the hem of his shirt. "Short for Anthony?"

"I guess." Tony leaned back against the sun-baked stone. "Preacher never called me any different. 'Tony' when I was good. 'Anthony' when I wasn't."

Arcade took the last slice. "That wasn't who raised you, was it?"

"Yeah. Little guy. Only one I knew 'til I was..." he paused to think - "... seventeen, eighteen years old."

A revelation hit him as he picked his teeth.

"Say, why're you so hedgy?" Tony sat up. "It's just your name."

"Oh, no reason." Arcade folded the empty tin in on itself. "Just a lesson learned the hard way." He tossed it over the rock ledge. "Men you can trust as _people_, you can't always trust as _friends_." He studied his fork. "That's not starting in on lovers."

A beat.

"Men?"

"Yeah." Arcade's voice sharpened. "What about it?"

Tony lay back down.

"Huh."


	6. The Middle of Nowhere (Sort Of,) Again

"You go on and pay when you check out," the ranger at the motel told them, handling business at the front desk. "You boys don't look like Vipers."

Arcade watched him open the guestbook. "You don't sell guns under the counter, do you?"

"That'll be the caravan outside," the ranger corrected, "if you can stomach what they charge." He set the open page spread in front of Tony. "Now one of you sign here, and you'll be set."

Tony pushed it aside. "You do it, Doc. You're the brains."

Arcade searched for a pen. Tony took in the room. A threadbare carpet. A sun-damaged sofa. Two tattooed men and an old tribal woman played cards at the table, no caps flowing between them.

The radio played beside their cards. Something about twenty men, and how they'd tried to face someone. Tony tuned in... then out.

"Ranger, huh?" He put up his elbows and laced his fingers over his stomach. "And you run this place?"

"Had to for months now." The ranger took the guestbook from Arcade. "Took it over after an accident at the dinosaur."

Tony glanced again at the card players. The old woman now sat transfixed in fright.

"Say." He tapped on the counter to grab the ranger's attention. "What's the matter with that old lady?"

The ranger's head followed Tony's direction.

"Well. I'll be damned." He closed an open drawer. "You two old friends?"

"Friends?" Tony fidgeted in place. "I don't know her from Adam."

"I dunno..." The ranger observed her - "... seems she's mighty familiar with you."

"The boy's telling the truth." Arcade struck an irritated pose. "He's never seen her before." Then a skeptical eye to Tony. "... Right?"

The ranger summoned them aside with his hand, leaned in, and hushed himself. "Hey. Between you and me."

The men tuned in.

"She's a runaway slave." The ranger muttered behind a concealing hand. "Out ten years now." He withdrew the hand without raising his voice. "Sometimes gets a little... spooked around strange men. Don't mind it. It's nothing personal."

Tony dragged his hand along the ledge as he started toward her. "Why don't you let her say so herself?"

She cowered. The card players turned their backs out to shield her. Tony paid them no heed and came closer...

... and the woman's face fell.

"... No." She spoke up to apologize. "No, I'm sorry."

Tony blinked and frowned.

"You're too young..." the woman reached out and touched his cheek - "... too warm."

Another blink.

The woman put her shaky hands on the table. "It's just, from over here, you looked... so much _like_ him."

The card players looked on, as confused as the one she spoke to.

"Like _him__?_" Tony snatched at the chance. "Like him, like _who__?_"

The woman shook her head. "I don't know."

Tony refused to let go. "Come on, why not?!"

"Flagstaff!" The woman surrendered. "... Flagstaff."

"That's not a name," Arcade commented from the desk. "That's a city. In Legion country."

"Leave 'er alone, _pendejo_." The player across from the woman flashed his teeth. "She's been through enough."

Tony glanced back - and forth - and bit his lip.

"Yeah." A quick bow of his head. "Yeah, I'm sorry, ma'am." He retreated on shy footsteps. "I didn't mean to scare you."

On the way out the door they heard her again.

"Young man?"

Tony looked back.

"I see both..." she eyed him up and down - "... violence and mercy in you." The woman gazed on him in sadness. "Please... choose mercy."


	7. Dark Passage

The sky took on a brown haze as they took up their path on the tracks.

The grass grew sparse. The roads became rough. The skeletons of electrical towers bent into the ground.

The heat had gotten worse instead of better, and the air smelled thick with smoke. They knew over every hill that they could cross into Legion territory - and each time on the way up they convinced themselves they wouldn't.

* * *

They spotted a pair of red tents at the base of a craggy ledge.

From afar they looked nondescript. Closer up they looked suspicious. Bedrolls... spears... a man tied up by the fire pit. As they debated whether to risk it the kneeling man called out to them.

"Hey!"

"Hey!" Tony answered. "It's you!"

"The one and only!" Forster called back. "I never thought I'd see you two again."

"Don't take this the wrong way..." Arcade prefaced, as they approached the fresh-dead campfire - "... but we hoped we'd never see you, either."

"Yeah, well, I love you, too." Forster tried to shift his bound wrists. "You know that bastard Pinky finally got himself killed?"

Arcade scoffed. "Good riddance."

Tony's eyes started out of his head. "How?"

"That night you boys got free..." Forster nodded to them - "... they locked him up at McCarran. Way I heard it he rigged a Nuka-Cola, try an' blow his cell door. Put the glass right through his brain."

"Well! Strike me blind." Arcade pulled down the corners of his mouth in amazement. "I didn't know he had one."

"Say, I don't mean to bother." Forster wriggled in place. "But could you cut my ass loose? Between the NCR and Caesar, I'm through with bein' tied up."

Arcade reached for his bag, then halted.

"_Caesar__?_"

They heard machetes unsheath behind their backs. Tony looked up for the first time and saw the bull on the standard.

* * *

"Bring them here!" The decanus ordered from the tent.

The recruits snapped to attention and set to work. They pinned their captives' arms behind them and dragged them forward, dust kicking up from the struggle.

"Tony, goddammit!" Arcade fought to speak. "You're an old... broken... mirror!"

"Closer..." the decanus requested. "I want to see who they are."

The heat lifted off their shoulders as they shuffled under the canvas. Tony's heart pounded. His nerves jumped. The grace of the shade did nothing for the paranoid sweat.

The decanus took off his goggles and revealed a veteran's face.

"The doctor."

The recruits shoved Arcade forward. Their superior sized him up with bored eyes. Finding no interest or use in him, he turned away.

"The other."

More jostling. Metal from one of their bracers dug into Tony's wrist. The decanus paced to him, stopped before him... and gasped.

"Release them!"

Tony felt his wrists freed. He stood nailed in place like a scarecrow, too overwhelmed to run. The decanus stared up at him in awe and saluted with his fist to his chest.

"Ave!"

"What?"

"Forgive me." The decanus' eyes shone. "I didn't know Atilius had a son."

Tony's face melted. Confusion... into horror. Arcade looked at him like he'd grown three arms.

"... No." Tony shook his head. "I don't know an... 'Atilius' anybody."

"There's no mistake. You're like his ghost." The decanus retreated, voice soft with intimidation. "I served with him in Flagstaff... that's a face I wouldn't forget."

Arcade snaked his hand around and pinched the back of Tony's arm. _Play __along__!_ His expression shouted.

"'Ghost?'" Tony glanced behind himself, then back. "Is he dead?"

"No..." The decanus breathed. "No, he's very much alive. At the Fort now, with Caesar." He made a beeline to the table beside the grindstone. "Are you headed that way?"

Tony took a leaf out of Arcade's book. "Maybe."

"I'll write a note for Lucullus..." The decanus looked for paper - "... to grant you safe passage."

Tony held his forehead. His mind spun. Arcade, for once, had run out of words.

"Go now!" The decanus insisted as he scrawled. "Take this." He folded the slip of paper and held it out to Tony's reach. "And may Mars be with you."

* * *

They set their bags down that night at an abandoned mine house.

The mood remained quiet and tense. Neither knew what to say to the other. Tony explored upstairs. Arcade lurked downstairs. The radio droned on the jukebox and kept them from losing their minds.

When he found himself hungry again Tony ventured into the breach. He passed Arcade on the couch as he found his way to the kitchen, scrounging for anything else on the way.

"I know that look," the doctor observed. "Something's eating you."

"Leave me alone."

"What?" Arcade shrugged. "You found him. After all this time."

"No I didn't."

A beat.

"Uh." Arcade frowned. "Yes you did."

"No I _didn__'__t_." Tony reemerged. Mr. New Vegas announced the next song to two sets of deaf ears.

"That decanus at the raid camp practically _took_ you for him. That..." Arcade perched the toe of his boot on the nearby chair - "... whatever-his-name."

"Maybe." Tony folded his arms like a toddler. "Maybe not. Maybe there's a hundred guys that look like me."

Arcade pursed his lips. "Interesting assessment." He gave the label on his bottle a passing glance as he stood. "All the more interesting on a couple of these, and..." he blinked fast and held out his arms - "... _phew_. This is strong stuff."

Tony set an empty snack cake box aside. "You been drinkin'."

"I am _tipsy_."

"You been _drinkin__',_" Tony corrected him. "I know drinkin'. Preacher used to drink himself stupid, and come and tan my hide."

"Jesus," Arcade snipped. "I'm _sorry__._"

"Yeah, well, it made me strong!" Tony jabbed his thumb against his breastbone. "And it taught me what it meant not havin' a good father."

"Y'know, Anthony. Fathers. Are overrated." Arcade clipped his delivery as he paced without aim. "I mean, the fact that you want one is just..." he gestured outward with his bottle hand - "... _testament_ that you never had one."

"You didn't neither." Tony continued through the hall. "You said so yourself."

"Oh, I did, all right." Arcade turned away. "In spirit. In reputation. My whole damn childhood I spent in the shoes of the great Israel Gannon!" An indignant swig. "Took me coming out here to finally get away from him."

"But at least you knew who he _was__!_" Tony lamented, planting one hand on his hip and the other over his eyes. "This is all wrong! I didn't... look for _nine__years_ just to find some Legion hood." He clenched and unclenched his fingers. "That's not the way it works!"

A mania overtook the doctor. He stepped into the center of the room and flung his arms out, liquid sloshing out of his bottle onto the floor.

"Anthony!"

Tony froze.

"Anthony! Life..." He repeated, with a quaver in his voice and a mad-eyed grin - "... isn't... fair!"

Tony remained silent. Arcade had become unpredictable. He could handle large. Dangerous. Provoked. Unpredictable scared him.

"Not for me, not for you..." Arcade ranted - "... not for anybody!" He circled back to his seat. "You go digging on a Legion medallion, what the _hell_ do you expect?!"

The song ended. An urge boiled in Tony's gut. The urge to kick, bite, slam a door, throw a chair, pounding in his head and throbbing in his knuckles and the flimsy bottom banister tore right off into his hand.

He stared at his handiwork. Arcade stared at him. Tony's head swam as he tossed it aside and stomped back upstairs.

* * *

Hours later Arcade came up to the bedroom. Without fanfare he kicked his shoes off, sat on the edge of his bunk and unbuttoned his shirt.

His eyes ached. His mood festered. A chill blew through the drafty room and gave him goosebumps.

Miserable night, he decided, removing his glasses. Fitting for a miserable trip.

In the stillness Tony poked his head out from under his blanket.

"You sober?"

"I am now."

"You all right?"

"Sure." Arcade lied. "It's nothing." His tone did little to support him. "Nothing eight hours on a rock-hard mattress wouldn't fix."

Tony rolled his eyes and flopped onto his back. "_Doc_..."

Nowhere to hide. Arcade surrendered.

"... All right, I'm cold." He pulled his blanket over himself. "Damn desert."

Tony propped himself up on his elbow. "Well why didn't you say so?" He patted the spot beside him. "C'mere."

The doctor gave him a strange look. Wide eyes. Furrowed brows. Tucked arms and hunched shoulders.

"What?" Tony maintained his innocence. "You're still cold, ain't you?"

Arcade looked away.

"_Hey_." Tony pressed him. "I ain't sore about earlier."

After a fervent inner battle Arcade set his shirt aside. He shuffled across the room, blanket draped over his head, and settled into the space Tony had cleared for him.

"If I wake up dead, I'll kill you."

Tony shifted as far aside as he could. "Whatsa_matter_ with you?"

"I'm kind of _impaired_ with that 'trust' thing..."

Silence.

Awkwardness crept up on Arcade out of nowhere. He got the itch to scoot closer, and had none of the gumption to do it. Their kneecaps already bumped under the covers, and he wondered if Tony would give him an earful about it.

Just when he thought he might try to fall asleep he heard Tony's mumbling.

"You know I hated that job?"

"Which?"

"The one at the Wrangler."

"I wouldn't have guessed." The doctor avoided eye contact. "You did it with aplomb."

"Yeah, that's the trouble." Tony folded his arm under his pillow. "It's all they want once they size me up. Debt work. Bouncin'. Prizefights at Gomorrah." His eyes closed. "I'd sooner mop the floor. But people take one look at you, they think they know what you're good for."

The observation lingered. Arcade debated what to do about it. Verbal sympathy felt cheap, but what else...

The hell with it. He moved closer.

"Doc?"

"Yes?"

"Your hand's cold."

"I know."


	8. The Ides of August

In the morning they continued down the winding road, clouds heavy over their heads.

As they drove deeper into the hills they began to notice torches. Waist-high and planted in the ground, and burning in broad daylight. _THE__SUN__IS__KILLING__ME_, someone had painted on the stone beside one, and Tony believed it.

Arcade averted his gaze when they found the first cross. Tony fixed his eyes on it in terror. The skeleton hung upon it like a wet shirt on a clothesline, brown fatigues left on its frame as a warning.

When they passed the log-and-board sign a man in a familiar feathered helmet rushed to greet them.

"Ave!" Same as the decanus before him. "State your business!"

Tony spoke with a lump in his throat. "Sir, is this Cottonwood Cove?"

"What?" The decanus mocked him. "You missed the _sign__?_"

"Then we're here about a man Lucullus." He stood up a little straighter. "We wanna take the ferry."

The decanus crossed his arms. "You're awfully optimistic that _Lucullus_ wants to take _you_."

Tony felt around in his pockets. "Yeah, about that- "

"Here." Arcade pulled the wrinkled paper from under his case of stimpaks. "It's a message from the officer at your raid camp."

The decanus took it with a scrupulous hand, studying it at arm's length. Tony's eyes wandered and fell upon a cage... a line of tents...

… And the decanus handed it back.

"Very well, profligates." He set the corners of his mouth. "The Cursor is at the dock. Consider this a... favor..." he turned away - "... that we won't grant you again."

Tony and the doctor flashed each other looks of relief - a relief lined with worry at the prospect of things to come.

* * *

They passed the next three days without saying a word.

The bloatflies buzzed. Sweat rolled down their necks. A lakelurk passed the raft at noon on the second day, and the recruits speared it to eat.

At the dawn of the third day they heard drums echo off the bluffs. The Fort appeared before them, small, then life-size, armed and walled to its dusty red teeth.

Tony's ignorance filled him with dread. Arcade's knowledge knotted his stomach. Never had either of them felt more like they stared into the eyes of Hell.

* * *

Recruits searched the men on the other side of the walls. Arcade rolled his eyes when they confiscated his knife, passing it around like a French postcard.

"You'll find him over the drawbridge." Lucullus gestured up the hill. "By the weather station." He turned a hard eye on them both. "And no _false __moves_ - from either of you."

* * *

"Hey," Arcade piped up, as a pair of uniformed boys ran past him.

"Huh?"

"Listen, I'm no social butterfly..." the doctor rubbed the back of his neck - "... but I know when I'm a third wheel."

Tony blinked. "Oh."

"You have your little reunion." Arcade started off in the other direction. "I'll be where you find the healing powder."

Tony watched him go before he struck out on his own. He made his way through the dirt paths with a cautious step and a nervous eye. An older slave set down his work to stare, and a veteran murmured as he went.

Past the far side of Caesar's tent he found another, closed and guarded, tall and tan among the rows of red.

"What do you want here, Profligate?"

Tony took a deep breath.

"They told me Atilius was in there."

"He is."

"Well I'd like to see him."

The guard disappeared behind the tent flap.

"_Sir_," Tony overheard. "_There__'__s __a __Dissolute __outside__. __Seems __he __wants __to __see __you__._"

"_Who __is __he__?_" A second voice rumbled.

"_A __young __man_," the guard volunteered. "_Tall__. __Strong__._"

A pause.

"_Let __him __in_."

The guard slipped back out and gestured to the opening in the canvas. Tony hesitated once... twice... before he pushed it aside and stepped in.

The drape swung back and left a stripe of light inside. It drew a line down the floor and ran up the back of a cape, on a bald man bent over the table.

Tony's mouth went dry.

"Are you Atilius?"

The man kept his eyes on the map beneath him.

"I am."

Tony racked his brain for what to say next. Show the pin? Introduce himself?

"The heathens in the west..." the man reached for a bowl to his left - "... hold their ground at HELIOS One." Water splashed as he immersed his hands to the wrists. "We beat them back at Nipton, but now they plan their move on the..." he pulled them out, dripping - "... east of the Dam."

Tony didn't follow.

"The heat keeps holding them back." The man flicked off the excess water and ran his palms over his knuckles. "But any day now, they'll come. And in all this... pointless attrition... " at last he turned to Tony, the light falling on half his face - "... who the hell are you?"

Tony opened up. Nothing came out. The man towered in the dark, barrel-chested and broad-shouldered in his praetorian armor.

"No. Wait." Atilius advanced on him. "I know you." Closer. "It's like..." he gripped Tony's chin and raised it to examine him - "... looking in a mirror."

Tony broke away as soon as he felt the hand go lax.

"Well." He reached in that same side pocket and held out the medallion. "Then I guess you've seen this before."

Atilius took it out of his hand and squeezed it... turned it over...

"For twenty-six years I've been wondering where this went." He pivoted. "Your mother tore it off me, in the..." he picked his words with care - "... heat of passion." He frowned to himself and pinned it to his front.

"My mother?" Tony followed him. "My _mother__?!_" He raised his voice. "Where _is_ she?!"

The clasp snapped closed. "Dead."

The word ripped into Tony's gut.

Atilius retreated further into the shadows. "What did they name you?"

Tony debated before he caved. "Anthony."

"Antonius," Atilius mused. "I like it."

"What's it matter whether you like it?" Tony flared up. "What'd they call my _mother__?!_"

Atilius folded his hands behind himself and answered with clean detachment.

"I don't remember."

"... What?"

Atilius raised his eyebrows. "I said I don't _remember_. Which is..." he pondered - "... assuming at one point I knew."

"Don't _remember__?!_"

Atilius stroked his chin.

"Antonius," he began.

"_Anthony_."

"You're a young man. A soldier."

Tony listened closer. He had to see where this went.

"You've been fighting. Days. Weeks. Too long. You don't remember." Atilius paced back to his map. "You're tired. Your needs are unmet." His hand found its way to his hip. "And you notice a slave."

Tony felt his face began to cringe.

"You see she's beautiful. You like her. You want her." Atilius played his reasoning through to the finish. "You don't know her name. It doesn't matter. You don't need it. As a man and a soldier you have the right - the moral right - to take her." A glance back at his son. "Do you do it?"

Tony gaped.

"I _said_, do you _have_ her brought to your tent - and do you _take_ her?"

"Atilius! Sir!" Light flooded the tent as the guard rushed in. "I'm sorry for the interruption. But Caesar requests an audience."

Atilius nodded. "I'll see him." He eyed the one he already had. "Do you have anything more?"

Tony hung his head.

"No."

He heard the clink of Atilius' armor and the swishing of the tent flap shut.

* * *

The wind dusted his ankles as he trudged out of the tent.

His feet carried him over the soil. Up the steps. To the height of the red-rock cliff where the desert lay spread on a canvas, Caesar's tent behind him and the wastes stretching into the horizon.

His legs slowed to a halt. His frame gave out beneath him. He hit the packed earth on his shins and knees and elbows, fists buried in the back of his hair.

After a minute's breathing he lifted his head from under his shoulders. Slowly... more... until he raised his eyes to the vast expanse and let the air beat at his face.

Nine years, he mourned. Nine years for nothing.

A sudden voice broke his silence.

"Tony?" Arcade's voice. He couldn't muster an answer.

And again. "_Tony__?_"

He hung his head.

"Leave me alone."

The sound of steps faded behind him.

_Mercy_, he pondered, facing the ground. _Mercy__. __Violence__._

_Violence__._

* * *

Arcade awoke the next morning to a desperate voice.

"_Doc__!_" It insisted. "_Doc__! __Wake __up__!_"

"What?" He asked, sitting up with all his strength. "What _is_ it?"

"Get _up__!_" Tony yanked the blanket away. "The whole place is a killin' field!"

Arcade's eyes searched the tent for a weapon. "Why?" His reflexes twitched. "How?"

"The NCR!" Tony stood. "They _jumped_ 'em!"

The noise outside became clear all at once. Gunshots. War cries. Slashing machetes and trampling feet. It crawled under Arcade's skin and set his nerves afire with fear.

"Well quit hanging around!" His hands shook as he grabbed his knapsack. "And get the hell out!"

Tony stood at the opening with his back to the doctor. "You go on." A wildness struck the way he stood and spoke.

Arcade looked up. "What?"

Tony headed out. "I got a job to finish."

* * *

The war roared around him as he fought against the current.

They died in front of him. Behind him. Slaughter bubbled up from the trench. He held his arm out as a shield and shoved legionary and trooper aside, leaving them for each other and making his way through the gate.

He broke out of the fray and marched up the wooden planks, dodging stragglers as he went. Slaves groaned. Grabbed his legs. Bled out in the dust. As he trampled the rocks and grass he encountered a cliff with three crosses - and none other than Atilius, tossing a limp slave over the side.

Tony hurried over the path, puffed out his chest, and bellowed from the bottom of his lungs.

"_Atilius__!_"

The man's head followed the sound.

"Yeah!" Tony shouted. "You!"

Atilius stayed stock-still.

Tony balled his taped hands into fists. "I got somethin' more to tell you!"

"Get out of my sight." Atilius looked away. "I have no business with you."

Tony stepped down the incline. "Yeah, well, _I_ got business with _you__!_"

"Are you here to kill me?" Atilius asked, sedate in contrast. "Will that make you feel _moral__?_"

"You take my helpless mother like meat, and have the _nerve_ to call me immoral?!" Tony provoked him. "You're a monster!" His whole body shook with the anger behind his words. "And I _hate_ you!"

Atilius lunged. Tony darted. Air whistled past his ear as a fist missed his face by an inch. His reflexes fired and he threw one back, catching Atilius on the cheek.

The next one came too fast to dodge. His bones rattled. His ears rang.

He stepped back and spit, bleeding down his chin. Atilius swaggered forward and caught him clean under his eye. When he fell against the boulder he felt another, then two, then three, seeing double, then triple-

Adrenaline flared. Tony grabbed Atilius by his cloak. His hands grasped and clawed and wrestled the man away - cloth ripping as the medallion tore off in his hand.

Atilius watched him make his way out into the open. He stood... breathed... and gave a bloodied smirk at the irony.

He charged again and Tony lost himself in instinct. Right! Counterpunch! He saw the lead. Dodge! The hook swung around to his liver and pain flooded up Tony's side, and he pulled in his elbows as Atilius pummeled his ribs.

An uppercut from below caught him square in the jaw. He reeled and fell, the sky falling and the ground rising up to meet him. He scrambled backward on his elbows and his seat as Atilius came closer, one thunderous step after another.

He raised his hands. Atilius raised his leg. His foot slammed with full force beneath Tony's chin, fingers the only thing between boot sole and throat.

Tony struggled. Atilius bore down. Tony gagged and frothed and retched, and _air__!_ his eyes watered and his feet kicked _air__!_ as blood pounded through his head to his arms as he pushed up harder than he ever had _air__! __**air**__**!**_ and his back arched and his heels dug into the dirt, as he gave it one final shove and life flooded into his lungs.

His back shot up. He gasped. The sudden imbalance sent Atilius reeling, arms striking at the air as he slid off the edge.

Tony had barely gotten to his feet when he heard his name.

"Anthony!"

He raced to the sound, breath shuddering in his chest. Atilius hung by the grasp of one hand, cape billowing in the cliffside winds.

"Help me up, damn it!" His voice welled up with cowardice. "I'm your father!"

Tony shook his head. Slowly... and gravely... as he retreated from the hand. He managed the only words he had, voice hoarse and blood swilling under his tongue.

"I have no father."

The stone crumbled. And splintered. And broke.

Tony's bones ached. His muscles screamed. After a moment's repose he looked down at his shoes. The medallion lay in the dust, still stuck in a scrap of red wool. He reached down... picked it up...

With the last of his strength he flung it out to the canyons. The force sent a rattle through his already-rocked brain, and he slipped out of consciousness as his body slipped to the ground.


	9. Ibi Victoria

Sounds settled into clarity as the world came to life.

"Two stress-fractured ulnas and the worst concussion I've ever seen." Someone familiar chattered near him. "I pumped him full of Med-X, but he'll still be in pain for a while."

Someone unfamiliar. "Stress fractures?"

"Two of 'em," Arcade confirmed. "That's leaving out the ribs."

"Jesus. How'd he make it this long?"

"I told you he was half a brahmin."

Tony groaned. He tried to reach for his head. A leather belt on each arm stopped him, strapped to the sides of the bed frame.

"Better get on that, Gannon." The other voice again - a dark-haired man? "Your boy's waking up."

Blond and black plastic faded in and out. The clamor of the room echoed in one ear... then the other...

"Tony!" The first ear. "Hold still."

Tony lolled his head on the pillow and screwed up his blue-black face.

"I know. It's an onerous job." Arcade tapped the air out of a stimpak. "After being out for three days, you must be dying to go punch something."

The light hurt. Tony closed his eyes.

"Three days? Where are we?"

"Forlorn Hope." Arcade wet his handkerchief with whiskey and swabbed down Tony's arm. "The whole place is upside down." He stuck in the needle with the steadiest hand he could manage. "Too many patients. Not enough doctors." After administering the dose he retracted the syringe. "Just another day for a Follower."

In a rush of noise and motion medics swarmed the next bed over. They lay a woman supine atop the mattress, blood blossoming through her clothes.

"Hey." Tony strained his neck toward the patient. "Hey, who's that?"

Arcade looked over his shoulder, then back. He drew a breath to answer... and stopped himself.

"_Doc__?_"

Arcade pushed his glasses to his forehead.

"When they saw the NCR coming, they started... killing all the slaves." He massaged his temple. "Scorching the earth. Guess a few got out alive."

Tony's face sunk as he lay back down. The doctor patted the injection site.

A fly buzzed near their heads. The commotion continued.

"Doc." Tony hushed himself. "What _happened__?_"

Arcade set the syringe aside. "Well, the way I heard it, one of the goons on the ferry was a spy." He took off his frames and untucked his shirt. "Got right in under their noses and radioed the NCR."

"How'd the NCR ever pull a thing like that?"

Arcade's eyebrows raised. "I dunno." He cleaned his left lens. "I suspect a lot of somebodies'll catch hell for insubordination." Then the right. "But Caesar's taken a powder, and his officers are scattered or dead." He rubbed his eyes before replacing the glasses. "The tide of this war's been changed for good."

Tony listened and tried to ignore his throbbing skull.

"'Course, the fact that it's the NCR doing the changing is... I guess..."

The other doctor tapped his shoulder. "Gannon! We need your hands."

"... Well, never mind." Arcade rose. "You're in bad shape. Get some sleep."

"But- "

"_Sleep_," Arcade commanded, and wove his way into the crowd.

* * *

When the dark-haired doctor deemed Tony stable they took their leave of the camp.

On their way out they stopped at the end of the rock formations. The grass swayed in clusters. The scrap yards dotted the distance. A sign stood propped up against the Joshua trees. HELIOS WEST, it said. HOOVER NORTH.

The silence lingered. Arcade cleared his throat and studied the sign.

"Well," Tony volunteered. "Where you headed?"

"Where are _you_?"

"Asked you first."

"Oh, I... guess I'll find my way back to Freeside." Arcade ran an awkward hand through his hair. "Pick up my research. Can't imagine Julie misses me."

Tony frowned in thought.

"... Freeside, huh?"

Arcade stuffed his hands in his pockets. "Yeah."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Just when I was gettin' used to you?"

"Wait." Arcade turned. "What?"

"I mean, don't let me tell you how to live your life or nothin'." Tony leaned on the rock and laced his fingers between his slings. "But the way things are out here..." his eyes roamed the landscape - "... you could do a lotta good."

Arcade looked off to the west and folded his arms.

"Well," he pondered. "There's an epidemic of heatstroke at HELIOS One." He scanned the horizon for the silhouette of the plant. "Heard it from one of the troopers. I won't fix their tech, but..." Arcade sighed - "... it'd be a crying shame to see more people die."

"'First do no harm?'" Tony looked out with him. "Is that it?"

"Hey!" Arcade started. "How do you know that?"

Tony cracked a smile. "Don't worry about it." He shifted off the rock and came to stand beside him. "Now. Are we goin' or stayin'?"

"Uh." Arcade still found himself taken aback. "... Going."

"All right." Tony wriggled his shoulder to reposition his knapsack. "Which way?"

The question gave Arcade sudden pause. He glanced to Tony... then the sign before him. HELIOS, he re-read. WEST.

He left his mouth hanging until it fell into words.

"This way," he beckoned, and strode forth onto the road.

In the third week of August the sun reflected off the banks of the river. It shone on the knolls of Hidden Valley and the sputtering sign at Novac, on the looming expanse of the dam and the docks at Cottonwood Cove.

And it shone on the ruins of the fort on the hill, and the backs of two men who had been there - two men who, for the first time, walked facing the things to come.


End file.
